


When I was Hungry

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Auto-Cannibalism, Blood, Cannibalism, romantic cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Wade has a request.





	When I was Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> Again, big thanks to Iintangible for help with Nate's lines.

“C’mon, don’t look at me like that,” Wade whines, shifting where he’s sprawled across the couch, glancing at Nate and then away again, unable to meet those judgmental eyes. “It was just a suggestion, nothin’ I’m making like a hard _need_ , just forget about it, we don’t need –”

Nate crosses his arms and stares, hard, until Wade shuts up and looks at him, strongly wishing he had some way of knowing what was going on in his mind at that particular moment. Something was definitely giving those gears a turn, evidently something serious enough to require Nate to stare Wade down the way a snake stares down a bird. It’s pensive and predatory and frankly is sending Wade super mixed messages.

“I’m not going to be able to forget that you just asked me to _eat_ you, Wade.”

“Pretend it was hyperbole?” He suggests, “You know, just another funny joke from your favourite jabbering buttplug.”

“ _Christ_.” Nate breathes, shaking his head just slightly, but still staring at Wade like – oh, sweet heavenly Father, is he _considering_?

Another few tense moments of silence while Nate pushes away from the wall he’s been leaning against and saunters into the kitchenette, finally breaking his death stare at Wade to look around the counter tops with idle interest.

“How much,” he finally asks, picking up something and setting it carefully back down, making the question casual but _oh_ so important.

Wade swallows, sitting up so he can cross his legs against the boner that growl has definitely got stirring – or maybe it’s the subject matter. Or both. Probably both, honestly. “Doesn’t have to be a lot,” he says carefully, trying not to get his hopes up. “A couple bites?”

Nate eyes him again, and he knows _exactly_ where this is going to go.

Nodding vigorously, Wade acquiesces eagerly, unwilling to do anything to jeopardize the promise of something he so desperately wants. “You can have whatever you want. Cut off my ass, whatever, I just...”

It’s the knife block Nate’s playing with, he realizes suddenly, laying out blades like he’s preparing for a little impromptu surgery. He tests the blades on the pad of his thumb, seeming satisfied. But those eyes are on Wade, crawling over him, eating him up in a way that’s almost too much. “You just what?”

Licking his lips, Wade tries to think of how to say this without sounding like a complete sap. The options aren’t great. “I just want to feed you,” he settles on, and Nate’s brow raises. “I wanna be part of you again.”

“You’re so fucking disgusting, Wade,” Nate says, but he’s smiling that wicked smile that tells Wade he’s really just being a jerk to watch him squirm.

"I mean, just... just a bite would be enough. You don't even have to swallow! If you don't like it, just spit me out and pretend we never did it, easy peasy." Wade tries back pedaling, nerves making him shrink back into the couch.

"You're acting like it's nothing. Just chew you up and spit you out. _Christ_." He sounds so repelled, and yet his eyes are steady on Wade, sizing him up.

"Well, preferably you'll swallow – but I'm... it's just...” Wade wriggles back against the cheerless couch cushions, struggling, for once, to articulate. He’s trying hard not to just make it into a joke, because he wants this so bad, and it _means_ something to him. So little does. “I wanna give myself to you. In a real way, not a sexy, pound me into the mattress and forget about it later way…"

Nate’s lip curls, his head shakes again. "You want to give yourself to me? What kind of demure bullshit – Wade, think about what you're asking me. Really _think_ about it. You want me to eat you, you give me a reason to do it. A good one."

Indignant, Wade sits forward, hairless brows furrowing."I wanna take care of you, you prick! I wanna be part of you, part of something that's actually good, okay?"

"Cute.” Nate waves a hand dismissively, unimpressed. “Not good enough, though. Cannibalism – you do it because you _need_ to, Wade. So why do I need to do this?"

"All you have to say is you're too squeamish, honey bear."

And Nate sounds _so_ disappointed in him as he turns away, heading to the fridge for a beer – one of his many nonverbal ways of saying a conversation was over. “Hiding behind jokes again,” he says, hand on the fridge door. “I'm busy, Wade. Don't waste my time."

Terrified, Wade scoots to the edge of the couch, almost jumping to his feet. It’s the barest hesitation in Nate’s posture that keeps him seated. “Oh, come on,” he says, begging now. “Don’t – fine, you need to… you need to do it because I need you to…?”

Snarling wordlessly, Nate rounds back on him, stepping away from the refrigerator to brace his arms on the counters. "You're not getting it.” He barks, and suddenly Wade _does_ , a little at least. “Tell me what you want. What you're getting out of it. In detail. If I'm gonna stick any part of your ghoulish body into my mouth and swallow it, then you're gonna work for it."

Wade swallows thickly, bracing himself against the words being dragged out of him, and then goes for it. "Fuck you, first of all," he mumbled, then, speaking louder, "I get to know that some part of me is buried in you -- that you took it and swallowed it like communion and made part of me part of you. That I'm nourishing you, keeping you going, driving you when you're off playing god soldier. That I'm with you when you're halfway across the damn world and ignoring my texts. I'm in you, all the time, forever."

"You want to be a part of something greater." Nate chuckles low in his throat, the sound velvety and almost a purr. "Good. You did good, Wade. But do you think you _deserve_ it?"

"Yes," This is a blatant lie, shown in the way he fidgets, but Wade speaks it smoothly. "And I'll do anything you ask me to if you just give this a shot."

"Really. We'll see." Nate leans back, smirking dangerously again as he watches Wade squirm on the couch. "Alright, Wade. If you want to... _nourish_ me. Then you understand that that's what you're for. Your body's mine. Your flesh is mine. This isn't about you anymore."

“Oookay,” Wade says, not quite sure how much he likes that (enough that he has to cross his legs again, that’s for sure). “Whatever you want, Nable.”

"That's right. So. Get yourself ready for me. I'm _hungry_."

Half an hour later, there’s rice in the rice cooker Nate had insisted on buying weeks before, and Wade is scrubbed as clean as he’s going to get, sitting shirtless at their shitty dining table, leaning his chin against the back of the chair, watching Nate as he replaces the butane cartridge in the hand torch Wade had impulsively bought to round out the kitchen appliances. The counters are as clear as Wade’s ever seen them, one filled with a massive cutting board and the other holding several knives and a small pan.

All told, it’s a lot more elaborate than what Wade had initially imagined, but the care Nate’s taking, the idea that he’s not just going through the motions but actually planning on _savouring_ this… well that’s just something else.

“I’m hungry,” Nate reiterates, eyes locked on Wade, making him shiver. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it _my_ way, Wade. I’m not just putting whatever rank, tough cut you want to offer in my mouth, got it?”

“Hey, I already said you can have what ever,” Wade says, shifting where he sits. “Got a nice plump rump.”

“Ass is too tough for what I have in mind,” Nate says, and Wade blinks wide, white eyes. That’s weirdly specific for a guy who wanted so much lead in before he was okay with this, but then again, Wade can see from the kitchen setup that Nate definitely has a meal plan going on here. “I want you to sit forward… just like that, wrap your arms around the back of the chair. This is going to hurt.”

He moves behind Wade, setting a chipped plate on the table and running a cool set of fingers between Wade’s shoulder blade and his spine, then up to his neck, back down, a shiversome little massage. He can feel his skin, fragile and so sensitive, tear under Nate’s hand, flesh sloughing up in little rolls that Nate shakes off with a sigh.

A kiss is pressed to the crown of his head as a knife slips into his back, sliding at a weird angle, slicing between muscle groups. Wade gasps, but that makes it worse, and Nate shushes him, stroking his other arm. He doesn’t comfort Wade or tell him it’s almost over; it’s not about Wade, it’s about Nate now, Nate getting what he wants, so Wade just bites his tongue and wills himself not to move, not even when the blood starts slicking his back in ticklish rivulets.

There comes a moment where the knife moves through something, the tip scraping bone (it feels so strange, that part not really painful, but _weird_ ) and his arm droops without his say so. He whimpers through gritted teeth, swallowing a joke about erectile difficulty he can’t quite make work anyway, and Nate kisses him again, almost condescending, sweeping the knife carefully upward now, following his spine.

His head bows; an eternity later the knife comes out of his back, and he’s so hard it’s a goddamned miracle that he doesn’t come then and there when Nate slips his fingers under the edge of the circular cut he’s bade and, pulling back, pulls loose a long strip of muscle.

It surprises him, though, when he can focus on something other than himself, that Nate’s breathing a little heavily too. The room smells like a butcher shop, and Wade laughs weakly – they’re close to that now, aren’t they? – while Nate lifts his head and props his chin on the back of the chair, so he’s able to see into the kitchenette, watch Nate stroll back in, dumping his knife into the sink and rinsing the rather hefty piece of meat he’s separated from Wade’s shoulder.

Rinsed, it goes on the cutting board, and with clean hands, Nate feels over the piece, turning it this way and that before he begins paring away the skin and excess fat. As the ruined, scar-roped skin disappears into the sink for the disposal to eat, the meat begins to look less and less personal.

Still, when Nate slices off a thin strip and pops it in his mouth, raw and unaltered, Wade moans out loud, the sight obscene and delightful.

“I want you to watch,” Nate says, chewing slowly, pensively, before swallowing. “Christ knows you could learn how to cook something other than frozen Tex-Mex.”

“Excuse you, I can and have made you Kraft Dinner.”

Nate focuses on drawing a _santoku_ knife across the meat. Wade knows it’s a _santoku_ because he spent three hours hemming and hawing over which of the pretty and excessively sharp sushi knives he wanted, and had ultimately settled on the large _santoku_ because it was the most versatile and seemed like the most sturdy option for self defense if he grabbed it during a break in.

Anyway.

Cutting against the grain, Nate makes a little pile of thin, neat strips. When he has a decent sized little stack set off to the side, he looks back to Wade, pulling out wax papter and wrapping the remaining meat in it, before placing that in a Ziploc. “We’ll just save this for later, mm?”

 _Fuck_. Wade knew Nate was very much a ‘waste not, want not’ kind of guy, but he really hadn’t expected that. Why the fuck was putting part of him in the freezer that sexy?

“Now this is easy. Even you couldn’t fuck this up too bad,” Nate goes on, laying out his strips of meat on the pan and turning toward the cupboard. He pulls out olive oil and some herbs Wade can’t identify and frankly doesn’t remember buying – did Nate go out while he was showering, or had those come with the place?

Either way, Nate mixed oils and little bits of the herbs in a shallow bowl, obviously grossly underestimating Wade’s ability to fuck things up, and then brushes the mixture onto the meat. Flips each piece, paints the other side with oil.

Finally he reaches for the butane torch, but he’s boring, careful in his use, lightly cooking each piece in the same way he’d applied the oil; delicately, first one side, then the other. The meat shrinks a little, but not much, browning just slightly and smelling… bizarrely delicious. This is far from the first time Wade’s sat around smelling himself cook, but it’s the first time he did so with a clear head, willingly and aware of what was happening. _Certainly_ the first time he’s been cooked so carefully.

“The rice isn’t going to be quite right.” Nate says absently, opening the rice cooker and dumping the rice – must be nice having a metal hand that doesn’t get burnt when you do dipshit things like reach into a steaming rice cooker with no mitts – into a large wooden bowl. Again, Wade didn’t remember buying that, but hey, it was there now. “It’s just Nishiki, cheap shit. But then again, consider the way we’re topping it. Wouldn’t want to get too extravagant.”

With one hand he fans the rice, with the other he mixes something sour-smelling into it.

“Is that vinegar,” Wade asks, wincing as he tries to roll his shoulders, finding the half-regrown meat knotting his right side to be extremely tender. “You look real nice, by the way, all domestic and cooking.”

Nate just grunts, paying more attention to the rice than Wade. That shouldn’t be hot, either, but it is, so Wade rolls with it.

Once satisfied with the rice, Nate pinches up a blob of it, gently packing it together to form a little. pillow. And people called Wade a nerd; he didn’t know how to make _sushi_. Nate did, and Wade was willing to bet people thought it was a cool talent.

Such was life. Unfair, but hey, at least he got to watch the stretch and bunch of Nate’s shoulder as he leans up to grab a fresh plate, and placed the first piece of _very_ unique sushi on it. After about ten minutes, he’s out of meat and has a full plate. Someone will be eating plain sushi rice later, and Wade has to resist the urge to call dibs, shifting uneasily as Nate turns toward him and heads to the table.

He passes the plate under Wade’s nose, not really teasing but more showing off; it smells _good_ and looks like real food, but it’s _Wade_ and something about that makes Wade’s heart flutter awkwardly in his chest.

The plate is set at Nate’s spot, and Nate grabs hold of Wade’s chair, dragging it and the towels it’s wresting on around to face the table. Wade’s mouth suddenly feels very dry, and his throat works to swallow as Nate settles into his seat, looking at Wade like he’s waiting for something. A crying off, perhaps, or a plea.

“No chopsticks?” Wade manages to ask, and Nate exhales a little noise that’s not quite a grunt, not quite a laugh, just a noise.

He picks up the first piece and brings it to his mouth, pausing long enough to breathe in the smell of it before popping the whole thing past his teeth and chewing, unhesitatingly, making the same burning eye contact with Wade he’d made before; the kind of eye contact that made Wade feel like he was about to be devoured… and this time, wasn’t that exactly what was happening.

A little noise of appreciation leaves Wade as Nate swallows, licking juice from his lips.

“You taste,” Nate says, considering, a little surprised, “Just like Matsusaka beef.”

Wade exhales a shaky breath, licking his own lips in unconscious mimicry of Nate. “I got no idea what that means, but it sounds like you approve.”

Nate’s already pressing a second piece into his mouth, and there’s nowhere else for Wade to look, and why does this feel so extremely voyeuristic? It’s like watching Nate masturbate, except better. Nate looks so pleased with his meal, so appreciative, and Wade may not have cooked it, but he put a lot of effort into it nonetheless,

“Well this is just rude of me,” Nate muses after a third piece, smirking, drumming TO fingers on the edge of the table. “I should have made a plate for you.”

“I’m fine,” Wade says quickly. “Not hungry.”

“No, no,” Nate’s grinning now. “You’re mine, remember? My flesh, my body. You’re hungry when I tell you it’s time to eat.”

Wade’s pretty sure this is _not_ part of his kink anymore, and yet, just as the blood is still oozing down his back, his cock is still tenting his sweatpants. He opens his mouth, probably to argue further, and Nate just pushes the smallest piece of Wade-sushi past his lips, so it’s chew or choke.

“That’s it,” Nate encourages, indulgent and kind as he reaches out to rub Wade’s throat, the way you might rub the throat of a dog struggling to swallow a pill. “It’s good, right?”

And that’s the weirdest part of this whole thing – it is. The meat tastes like a weird combination of beef and pork, super tender and perfectly seasoned, melting with the slightly tart flavor of the sushi rice. It should be weirder, eating his own flesh, but his stomach rumbles as he swallows, mouth flooding with saliva in a way that has nothing to do with rejection.

“Christ, you look like you’re gonna come from one bite,” Nate growls, disgusted and amused. “You want another?”

He has to think a moment before shaking his head. “I like watching you eat better.”

Nate picks up another piece, leaving two yet untouched. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m still hungry then, huh?”


End file.
